


to be small

by Anonymous



Category: Rusty Quill RPF
Genre: Crime AU, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Praise Kink, Sexual Roleplay, Sibling Incest, based on "blood is love" au but not canon within, knife and gun violence, let me know in comments if i should tag something else please, murder as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "You don’t honestly remember what it was like for you to fall (you’re not patient enough to count the years) but for him it’s like a switch flipped. You know better, of course, know he’s been walking down this path for a long time- ‘cause you’re the one who’s been pulling him along.You admit you sometimes miss that timid little brother you used to have, but it’s better this way. It’s good. "
Relationships: (main focus ben/tim), (others secondary), Ben Meredith/Alexander J. Newall, Ben Meredith/Tim Meredith, Ben Meredith/Tim Meredith/Alexander J. Newall, Tim Meredith/Alexander J Newall
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6
Collections: Anonymous





	to be small

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_veins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_veins/gifts).



> do not archive, do not send to anyone in cast or crew. if you got here yourself then, well, hi! we have fun here!
> 
> if you enjoyed comments and kudos are always appreciated! please talk to me about ben/tim i have fallen and cant get up. to crime au squad, i love yall, thank you for inspiring me with the brainworms

He doesn’t-

He takes what he wants, now. It’s good- it  _ is _ good, ‘s what you wanted. You watched him fight himself for so fucking long that it’s like a weight off both your shoulders to see him with someone else’s blood on his hands. You don’t honestly remember what it was like for you to fall (you’re not patient enough to count the years) but for him it’s like a switch flipped. You know better, of course, know he’s been walking down this path for a long time- ‘cause you’re the one who’s been pulling him along. 

You admit you sometimes miss that timid little brother you used to have, but it’s better this way. It’s good. 

He’s a fuckin’  _ brat  _ is the thing, which really you should have predicted given the fact that the two of you are in fact related. And it didn’t even take that long, like the instant he realized  _ he _ could be the one take he decided to have it all. You don’t  _ blame _ him for it, sure, it just… surprised you a little, that’s all. ( _ Tim would laugh at you to hear you say that, would look right into your eyes, fiery and pointed. He’d say: “surprised?”, and raise an eyebrow, and smirk, and wrap his arms around your neck, and look down at you. He’d say: “I’d say you were more than surprised,” and it’d be soft and low and next to your ear. You would shiver and he would kiss your cheek and walk away and you’d see yourself in the sway of his hips as he went, and you’d say nothing.) _

It’s  _ good _ , is the thing. You’d had him pegged with that fucking daddy kink for years now and you were  _ not _ disappointed. It’s  _ fun _ to rough him around, fun to watch him laugh and snark back, fun to make his eyes roll back in his head in various, exciting ways. He likes being put in his place and you like putting him there. Sometimes, though, he gets- soft, loose, not quite there, and you like holding him, touching him everywhere you can reach, kissing the tears from his eyes. Even now, even after everything, you haven’t been able to acknowledge those are the moments you love most. It feels like admitting that- that you crave his vulnerability. You miss it. He’s a knife now just like you and while he’s safer, while he’s stronger, while he’s by your side and it’s exactly what you’d dreamed- you knew there would be sacrifices, you just didn’t think this would be one you’d care about. 

Let’s just say it’s been on your mind, you guess, though you’re trying not to let it distract you. Sometimes with all the fucking and the bullshit you get up to you forget that you do actually have a job, even if it doesn’t tend to involve a lot of “employable skills.” Alex would look at you all soft and tell you that  _ no _ your skills are  _ incredibly _ employable you’re a  _ great _ people person, and then he’d slap your ass a little because he’s kind of a bitch, and it would make you laugh because you are also kind of a bitch. But  _ all of that is to say _ that while it is more than undeniably true that Tim is more important to you than almost every other human life, you do not actually spend all of your time thinking about him. Or in his presence.

It’s not unsurprising, though, when Tim finds you at the base of the tower. You’re about to head out for an important meeting, and you’ve made sure to pack your favorite knife. He sees you twirl it around a couple times and the grin on his face is calling you a show off without needing to say it. His smile-

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though.

There’s a little bit of whiplash that you struggle to conceal behind your eyes at the realization; Tim’s gotten good at hiding himself, even from you, and knowing that something’s wrong enough that you can see it? You don’t want to think about how quickly it makes you- panic, and then. Well.  _ Want.  _

“Someone out there stirring up trouble?” Tim asks, and he sounds the same. “Or are you just getting ready to?” 

You think fast, sheath your knife and grin back at Tim. The game was a lot easier when you were the only one playing. “Depends. Haven’t had the meeting yet,” you quip back, and wait for Tim’s smile to be real. 

“Have fun, be safe,” Tim says, patting you on the head like a doting mother. “Don’t stay out too late,” and ruffles your hair.

You can’t help the annoyed laugh that escapes you, simultaneously too genuine for the situation and also completely unavoidable. “Wanna come with?” you ask, and then blink. You… didn’t mean to say that.  _ You didn’t mean to say that- _

“Sure,” Tim says, “If you think it’d be okay with the boss man.” 

_ Shit. Shit shit shitshit,  _ you were really counting on him to say  _ no- _

“Tim, you know as well as I do that Alex is more than happy with you helping out wherever you want,” comes out of your mouth. It’s not  _ not _ true it’s just also not _ particularly helpful- _

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you like me with my hands dirty,” Tim says, and winks. Which is. Also not  _ not _ true. 

“‘S your ego talking,” you say, but he just laughs and leaves to grab his own knife. You and Alex have both given him one and although he was hesitant at first, he fell in love with them almost as much as you fell in love with yours. He comes back with the one you gave him and it’s so disgustingly on purpose, you can’t help yourself from hauling him in for a kiss.

“I am IRRESISTIBLE!” he shouts, and it’s designed to make you laugh, which you do, because you love him. He pumps a fist and hisses “ _ yes _ !” and it is so utterly Tim that it makes you want to kiss him again. You’re running late at this point, though, so instead you just roll your eyes and start walking towards the car, not waiting for Tim to follow. 

_______________________

You get to the house the meeting is supposed to happen at and you struggle to contain your eye roll. It is ostentatious in a way that is absolutely tasteless, and you know it’s meant to inspire awe and fear. Instead it just makes you think Daniels must be compensating for something, and a glance at Tim confirms you’re not alone. You can see the disdain in the curve of his mouth, but a look towards his eyes shows him that same emptiness you saw earlier. 

“Well, guess it’s showtime,” he quips, and you let him do it, snorting quietly before heading towards the front door.

You’re not an idiot, of course. You’ve staked out the location before, and are fully aware of where Daniels likes to post his people. But he is in turn, of course, aware of the fact that you will have done this, or at least is almost certain to expect it. All that is to say that it might seem like suicide to just waltz up to the front door, but Daniels is expecting you. And Daniels always did like a show.

You knock on the door; Daniels doesn’t use any kind of coded knock, which you appreciate. It’s dreadfully clichéd. Tim’s next to you, fidgeting and shifting his weight from one foot to the next. He moves around a lot, and not for the first time you feel the urge to just- hold him down, make him steady. Still. You get to play that urge out sometimes but not right now, not when the door is opening to reveal Daniels himself, clad in a tailored suit and a golden smile.

“Mr. Meredith!” He shouts, before gesturing you inside. “Come in, come in! And I see you’ve brought a friend.” He doesn’t sound surprised to see Tim, which is good. You probably should be more careful with making sure the people you plan to meet with take kindly to adjustments, but you’ve developed a bit of a habit of just- not giving a shit, to be honest. But Daniels knows the game, however good he might actually be at playing it notwithstanding, and so steps aside to let you both in with a wave of his hand. 

The two of you follow Daniels in, not sparing a glance to the decor lining the walls of his home. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, and you’re already feeling impatient for something to happen. So sue you; you’re hungry for a fight. You won’t take it there if it doesn’t have to, but you definitely won’t be disappointed. Tim still just seems fidgety in his normal restless way, doesn’t feel that same itch for violence to quite the same extent as you do. He’s not averse to it, mind, and he looks fucking good with a weapon in his hand, but it doesn’t…  _ tempt _ him like it does you. 

You reach what you assume must be Daniels’ meeting room, and he stops you both with a hand. You haven’t seen any of his people in the house, which is bloody cocky of him, and also a bit surprising. With how willing he is to show off his wealth, you’d have pegged him as a man who’d want to show off his forces for the same reason; fear. Maybe he knows you’ve been around the block too much for that to hold water; or maybe he really is trying to keep things peaceful. You… should probably care more than you do.

“Would you two boys give me a moment,” he asks, before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, not giving either of you a chance to answer. 

This… feels like a power play, though a pretty stupid one. Now you’re  _ alone _ in his  _ house, _ and even if  _ you _ know it’s a stupid idea to go sneaking it’s not because of the risk. You might be a cocky bastard but you’re cocky for a reason, and you know you’re more than capable of handling whatever you might face. No, it’s only stupid because it’s too easy, and Alex likes to maintain his “image,” whatever the fuck that actually means for a fucking crime lord. 

You look over at Tim, trying to make a joke with him about how monumentally stupid this whole thing feels, but the look in his eyes draws you short one final time. They’re still just so- so quiet, and it might be even dumber than sneaking through Daniels’ house or bursting through the door but you don’t care. You grab him by the shoulders and don’t let him pull away, make him look into your eyes.

“Ben, what the fuck-” he snarls, angry like a trapped animal, but you shake him once. 

“What’s going on with you?” you say, playing to his anger. You can tell he needs to be angry.

“Fucking- nothing, let go of me-” and he tries to twist out of your grip.

“ _ Tim _ ,” you say, insistent, not giving him the space, and for just a moment, he flinches. 

You notice his flinch, and he notices you notice. It wasn’t quite- fear. But you’ve seen that flinch before, you’ve seen that look in his eyes. It’s been awhile, since before the two of you killed together, fucked together, did everything together. That look of… anticipation, almost. Like when you’d taken him out on a job, knife tucked away, knowing what you planned to do and craving his response. You watched him watch you gut the motherfucker, grinning into the cut, almost mad with it. You watched his face go pale and his eyes go dark and his body start to shake as he stepped away from you. You wanted to hold him. You wanted to touch him,  _ fuck,  _ you wanted to touch him. You held his hands and spoke to him and watched him as he didn’t hear a word, watched him watch the blood soaking into his own hands, watched him see what that meant. What it all meant. You cleaned the two of you, bathed the two of you as you were clutching each other like rocks in a storm, and it was the absolution of the damned. 

“Tim,” you whisper, and press a kiss to his cheek. “You nervous, darling?”

You know he isn’t, not really. That isn’t the point. He doesn’t respond.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll show you how it’s done, nothing to worry about. I’ve got you,” you say, and you really can’t tell if you’re saying it for him or for you. It feels so good to say it. He still doesn’t respond, but you’re not done. 

“Tim,” you say, and it’s not a question. “Let me show you,” you say, and it’s a  _ command. _

Tim slumps, just a bit, shoulders falling forward and face caving in. It’s not an act, not in that moment, and you- you worry. You’re so used to being certain about everything it feels like a transgression to be afraid, to be afraid for the brother that you made. 

“Please,” Tim says, and you stop worrying. “I want- I want to be yours. I want to be- small.”

“ _ God, _ ” you say, and you know Tim knows. 

“You want that,” Tim says, and it’s not a question. “You always have.”

“ _ Let me show you,”  _ you say again, and you’ve said it before, but before it was sly and knowing and he shivered and blinked and nodded and now it’s desperate and shaky- and he shivers. And blinks. And nods. 

The two of you split apart with perfect timing as Daniels reopens the door. “Apologies for the wait, boys! You two come on in, now.” He glances at Tim and smiles, finally seeming to notice the fidgeting, clocks it as nerves. You think it’s funny, but when you look back to Tim he’s- he looks out of place. Lost. Fidgeting from more than the impatience that usually rattles down his spine. He doesn’t belong here and you want to drag him in bloody and feral. He looks at you and fucking- fucking  _ winks, _ just once, before going back to it, and you swear you could kill your fucking actor little brother, but fuck’s  _ sake, _ not if he kills you first. 

The two of you follow Daniels into the room and in an instant you know it doesn’t matter anymore how the meeting goes. You might not even give it a chance to start. You’re going to murder every motherfucker in that room just so you can see the look on Tim’s face when you do it, and you know Tim knows it too. 

There are only three other men in there besides Daniels, because he really is that much of a cocky idiot, and you take the first seat you see and sit yourself right down, prop your feet up on the table and cross your legs. You’re done playing the game Daniels wants you to play; you don’t care about that anymore. Time for something  _ much _ more fun. 

“Let’s cut to the chase,” you say, and try not to snicker at the pun. “Mr. Newall has been  _ very _ disappointed with your earnings these last few weeks, Danny, and I find myself pretty disappointed with the hospitality we’ve been shown.” You take out your knife, not even bothering to hide it, and start using it to clean your nails. “So that’s two strikes,” and you flip your wrist back, casual and glib, as if you aren’t still holding a knife sharper than sin. 

Daniels is already sweating, which would be annoyingly pathetic if it wasn’t so conveniently hilarious. Rage at your impropriety tangles with the fear at seeing that steel, and you watch him struggle to swallow both as he sits, motioning for two of his people to do the same. One woman stays standing, and stares down Tim, who’s still hiding as close to the doorway as he can. Daniels probably thought you’d be a gentlemanly type, which, to be fair, you  _ were _ planning to pretend to be. The bitch of a snake sitting in front of him now is not what he expected, and you can almost hear the gears grind in his brain. 

“I’m sure we can make arrangements to- make up for recent losses,” he begins, motioning to the man now seated to his left. “My family has been loyal for many years now, and I’m certain-”

“Thing is,” you interrupt, before kicking your feet back off the table and standing up, making the men sitting behind Daniels do the same. You waltz over to the woman watching Tim, and she isn’t fast enough. “We ain’t playin’ baseball,” and in an instant you slit her throat.

You laugh as the men behind Daniels struggle to pull their guns on you. It is  _ laughably _ simple to traverse the room, cutting down the next one almost as quick as the first. You make sure to let the blood coat your hands as you do it, and it feels  _ right _ . The last one’s almost a challenge, having trained his gun on you after witnessing his friend’s life get, well, “cut short.” But almost is the key word, and guns are worse than useless in close range. You get him with a well-placed knee to the kidney, snap the arm holding the gun until it breaks at the elbow. Such fragile little joints if you know what you’re doing, which these fucks clearly don’t. You take the gun from his hand and throw it across the room; they’re not your style. Him you gut, knife sliding stomach to chest, against the ribs, because you remembered how lovely Tim looked the last time you did it and you think he might appreciate it. The fucker falls to the ground with a thud and you can’t help but turn to the side, lick the still-warm blood from your dripping knife, and it tastes like  _ life.  _

Daniels looks like he’s about to shit himself, if he hasn’t already, but Tim-

Tim looks fucking  _ angelic. _

He’s shaking in the corner like a lost fucking lamb, sweating and terrified. If you didn’t know better you’d say he really  _ was, _ but right now you’re not in your head enough to care. You look at the rest of him and you know it doesn’t matter; his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black, pools you could fucking drown in, and you can tell he’s hard in those fucking jeans. You want to fucking devour him, but that’s not the game, not right now, and you want to sink into him, make him sink into you, just that much more.

You walk up to Daniels and he backs away like a fucking coward. You guess you can’t blame him and it  _ does  _ make things easier. You grab one of his dead men’s blood-warm jackets and tie his arms back, his feeble protestations not even slowing you down. Once he’s tied up enough you’re satisfied you walk as fast as you can over to Tim, grab his face with both hands and pull him into a kiss.

He grips at you with a moan, but pulls away just as quick, gasping. You remember the game and watch as he looks at your bloody hands, whimpering. “Shhhhh, it’s okay,” you say, kissing his cheek twice, three times in quick succession. “It’s going to be okay. You’re doing so good.”

Tim’s hands shake between you, and you grab them in yours. You watch the blood cover his palms and whisper more praise into his ear. “Let me show you, let me show you,” you murmur, and he doesn’t nod. He doesn’t say yes, but you drag him over to Daniel’s prone form anway, and it’s perfect. 

Daniels smells like piss and fear, but all you see is the darkness of Tim’s eyes as he goes to his knees beside the man with a thud. You crouch down beside him, look at Daniels with as much wild glee as you can muster, and relish as his eyes roll back. You reach for Tim, take his knife out of the holster around his ankle, grab one of his hands and bid his fingers to curl around the handle. “Your turn,” you say, and he starts to cry.

It isn’t loud; it’s almost silent, just for you. You want to kiss his tears from his face, lick a stripe towards his eyes, bring his sorrow into you, make it yours. And then you realize you fucking can, so you do, and when you reach his eye you press a kiss to the closed eyelid. It just makes him cry more, so you shush him again, and lean back. “You ready?” you ask, and again he does not say yes and he does not nod, and again it does not matter. 

You start with an arm, cutting Daniels’ expensive suit off with a few well placed slices. “The cut won’t kill him,” you explain, “but I need to know you’re ready to draw blood. It’s harder than you think,” you continue, carving a line down one exposed arm and making Daniels scream. You roll your eyes and shove part of the suit jacket you just cut into his dumb fucking mouth, and grab Tim’s wrist, guiding it to the other arm. “It takes more pressure than you’d expect,” and you drag the knife in Tim’s hand along Daniels’ arm; you don’t press in enough to cut, and it leaves a faint line where it touches. “But I know you can do this.”

You let go of Tim’s hands, and watch as they shakily bring the knife to the top of the line you marked out so helpfully for him to follow. He hesitates, and you slide your body as close to him as you can without impeding his movement, almost clinging to his side. You press an openmouthed kiss to the side of his face, tell him “It’s okay, it’s okay,” and watch with bated breath as he slowly allows the knife to part flesh.

Daniels is still screaming behind his gag, and you take a moment to be fucking ecstatic about the fact that Tim’s slow, timid cuts will be much,  _ much _ more painful than your own. He’s doing  _ so _ well, and you tell him, tell him how proud you are, that it’s harder than you think to draw blood on a first cut but he’s a natural, so fucking smart, such a perfect brother. You think Daniels might twitch a bit at the “brother” line but it could also be the fact that he’s still got a knife jammed an inch and a half into the flesh of his arm, so you’ll let it slide. Tim finally finishes his work, yanking the knife out of Daniels arm and slamming it down onto the ground next to him. You reach up, wipe away more of his tears with your bloody thumbs, leaving trails of dilute red across his skin. You want to kiss that away too but you refrain, instead yanking at what remains of Daniels’ shirt and tearing it from his body. He shudders, and it makes you chuckle. 

“Next one’s gonna be bigger, darling,” you say, “and we’re just making one cut.” You take his hand with the knife again and drag it across Daniels’ torso, just below the ribs, leaving another faint line. “Don’t worry though, Tim, this won’t kill him, I promise.”

“I-” he starts, and it’s the first thing he’s said through all of this. “I’m scared,” he says, and just like that you realize you’re quite literally harder than you have ever fucking been. 

“Shhh, shhh,” you say, and you kiss him, properly this time. He kisses back and you can taste how much he needs you. “I know.”

He doesn’t hesitate as long this time, plunging the knife in deep quick and easy but still sliding across slow as anything. It’s like he wants to draw this out just as much as you do, which you wouldn’t put past him. Daniels’ screams are getting hoarser and wetter, and soon he won’t be able to scream at all. 

“You’re doing  _ so _ well, god, such a good boy for me,” you tell Tim, just because you want to make him whimper. He does and it’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever heard. “My precious boy, you learn so quickly, so good for daddy.” 

As you finish your sentence Tim’s hand jerks, and the knife in Daniels’ torso follows suit. It makes a jagged, ugly line instead of the straight one you’d marked out, but as Tim yanks the knife back out you couldn’t fucking care less. He looks wrecked and you’re not done, not even  _ close _ to done.

Finally, fucking  _ finally, _ you reach a hand down between his legs and he moans in surprise, shoots up and clings to you, face tucked into the space between your neck and shoulder. He mouths at your neck as you touch him through his jeans, gentle, mindless kisses, and you can’t tell which one of you will be the first to drown in this. 

“You wanna come?” you ask, and he moans again, clings harder. “Please, daddy,” he says, and it makes the fire in your gut burn even brighter. “Fucking-  _ please _ .” 

You move your hand away and he almost sobs in frustration, but you shush him again. “After you’re done, baby,” and you take his hand one final time, settling the point of the knife gently against Daniels’ throat. “Not before.”

Tim looks at you as you draw your hand away before making a mark, like you had the last two times. “I want to see you do this all on your own, darling,” you say, and neither of you notice the sounds of Daniels begging for his pathetic life as you gaze into each other’s eyes. Tim takes a deep breath, centers himself, sinks the knife in slow and careful. He drags it across Daniels’ throat like an amateur, slow and choppy. His hands are fucking  _ covered _ in blood by the time Daniels is dead and the body is still, and you have never wanted him more than you want him now. 

This time he throws the knife away and turns back at you and you jump at him like a starving thing, grabbing at his hands and willing the blood seep between the two of you until it binds you both together. You bite at his neck until you remember to be soft and then you press kisses everywhere you can reach. Tim is bucking his hips up underneath you and you figure he’s waited long enough.

You barely even tug his jeans and underwear down past his knees before you’ve got a bloody hand wrapped around him. You’re breathing into each other’s mouths and you can barely even speak; when you notice words escaping your throat they’re nothings, sweet little phrases of “so proud of you” and “did such a good job, such a good boy” and “gonna make you come, gonna make you  _ fucking  _ come  _ fuck-”  _

He does, urgent and sudden between you, and you hold him through it, licking the rest of the blood and tears from his face until he’s yours, entirely yours. Tim pants beneath you for a few more moments before he’s up like a shot, scrabbling at your own clothes and murmuring “want you, want you,” like a mad thing. You let him push you down, let him tug your trousers and underwear off your legs, let him lick a stripe up your dick and make you howl. You want him closer, want him inside you in every and any way possible but there isn’t time for that, not here, or at least not for the closest thing you can get to it, so instead you have to settle for the tight warm heat of his mouth pulling you closer and closer to the edge. It still feels- transcendent, like heavenly fire, and it doesn’t take long before you’re spilling into his throat with a cry. 

____

“So, how’d it go?” Alex asks, and it’s all you can do not to laugh. The two of you have cleaned up the best you could, but to a practiced eye it’s more than a bit obvious you were fighting or fucking. Or both, as the case may be. 

“It went well!” Tim chirps, and you are incapable of holding back a snort. 

“Unfortunately, Daniels will no longer be able to repay his debts,” you say, and look at Alex with your sauciest grin. “He is… incapacitated at the moment.”   
  


Alex chuckles, and walks up to more properly greet you with a kiss. You return it with relish, and laugh as Alex quips, “I’m sorry I missed it. You always look so lovely with blood on your hands.”

“He does,” Tim says, at the same time you say, “Actually, Tim was the one who killed him.”

Alex looks over at Tim with plenty of mirth in his eyes. “Oh?” he questions, walking up to greet Tim more properly as well. “Well now I’m  _ really _ sorry I missed it.” 

You shout “oi!” in faux annoyance as Alex drags Tim down for a filthy kiss, and watch them giggle into each other’s mouths as it ends. You’re not sure exactly what you did in life to deserve these two perfect dumbasses, but you’ll do it again. You’ll do it a thousand times if it means you get to have them both in your life, if it means they’re yours. They look back at you and you know, in the deepest part of whatever passes for a soul that you have left, that you belong to them just as much.


End file.
